


On the Wings of Storm

by Zdenka



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 1, Gen, Númenor, Second Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-14
Updated: 2011-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/pseuds/Zdenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman of Númenor on the sea, in doubt and hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Wings of Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deborah_judge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deborah_judge/gifts).



> Many thanks to my beta-readers: avanti_90 and greenlily.
> 
> I do not own Tolkien's characters and settings, or the image posted with this story, and make no profit from them.

The heavens are clouded and we cannot see the stars. The storm has raged now for seven days and nights without ceasing. The rain comes down in sheets and the men on deck are soaked to the skin. Our ship is one of the stoutest built in Númenor, yet it shudders and skips upon the deep like a child's toy. We are in the hands of the Powers; their will be done.

I long to breathe the fresh air, even at the price of enduring the storm, but my presence on deck would be a distraction to the mariners. I cannot aid them. The daughters of Númenor are not taught the ways of sailing upon the sea. Since I was a girl, I have gone with my mother to set an evergreen branch of oiolairë, the Bough of Return, on the prow of my father's ship before he departed on his journeys, but never did I think to fare forth myself to strange lands. Yet now I go into exile with my husband and child and all my living kin; and my heart tells me there will be no return.

I have taken up pen to write, thinking that so I may set my thoughts in order and also that an account of this strange voyage may be preserved to those of later days, if so it be that we come through this storm. I who write these words am Eärwen daughter of Ciryatur, formerly of Rómenna, and kin by marriage to the Lords of Andúnië. I may write this account in the Elven-tongue and also speak it without danger; and that is joy amidst the grief.

My husband has placed me in charge of the stores: dried meat and waybread and the precious fresh water. Not only experienced mariners are here upon this ship, but young and old, men and women and children are crowded here all together. My husband is captain of this vessel; but he is busy and cannot be spoken to, so they come to me with their fears. I must not be seen to be afraid.

Twice daily, at morn and evening -- though day is barely brighter than the night -- I look in the Seeing-Stone for the other ships of our tiny fleet, for so Isildur has bidden me. They are whirled by wind and wave, even as we, but they still live, and that is a comfort. My son has been a comfort to me as well. He is not yet a man by the reckoning of our people, but he will not be parted from his father’s side. His father had to order him to take rest, using his authority as captain, before he would quit the deck. I do not rejoice in our peril, but I rejoice to see him bear it as he does.

It is also my charge to tend the White Tree, while my husband and his mariners struggle above to save our lives. O marvel beyond the power of words to tell! I still remember clearly the first time I saw the Tree. Shortly before I was to be wed, my husband's grandfather took me aside. "I have now to show thee, Eärwen," he said, "a thing which hath been kept secret even among the Faithful. It is the greatest treasure of our house; and in time to come it will fall to thee and thy children to tend it, if the Powers grant their blessing. But first swear to me that thou wilt not speak of this thing to anyone, unless I or my son give thee leave."

I thought he spoke of some book of lore, or perhaps a treasure of gold and silver wrought by the Elves of Eressëa in former days. I wondered that he thought an oath necessary, but I swore by the Lords of the West that I would keep silent. It was not difficult for him to persuade me, for I had long trusted the Lord of Andúnië with my life and fortunes, and I was impressed by his solemn and affectionate tone.

He took me by the hand and led me into a small chamber which I had never before entered. When I saw what lay within, tears came to my eyes and I cried out in the Elven-tongue, "A Nimloth! Nimloth that was lost!"

"It is not Nimloth," said the Lord of Andúnië, "but a child of Nimloth, grown from a fruit saved by Isildur at great peril of his life. Do not wonder that he did not speak of it; he too was sworn to silence." And my heart was glad that I was to wed such a lord.

Even now, when Amandil is gone and Númenor is lost to us, the presence of the White Tree comforts me. When I see the soft light of its leaves and breathe in its scent, I feel my weariness fall away and I am given strength to endure. If we pass in safety through this storm, we will all have need of strength in the days to come.

I have not the gift of foresight, but my heart tells me that the fate of my kindred will be entwined with that of the White Tree for years beyond thought, and I rejoice that my offspring should be bound to a thing so fair.

**Author's Note:**

> Tolkien does not give us the name of Isildur's wife nor any details about her except what can be deduced from the lives of her husband and sons. This has always seemed unfair to me, and a Purimgifts story seemed like the perfect opportunity to give her a chance to speak. I hope you like what I have done with her.
> 
> The name Eärwen, meaning 'sea-maiden,' is borrowed from an elf-lady in _The Silmarillion_. The name of her father Ciryatur is taken from a Númenorean admiral in _Unfinished Tales_. As the name of Isildur's eldest son, Elendur, resembles the name of his paternal grandfather Elendil, I thought that the younger son Ciryon could be named after his maternal grandfather.
> 
> According to a note to "The Disaster of the Gladden Fields" in _Unfinished Tales_ , Elendur was born in Númenor in 3299 of the Second Age and thus was twenty years old at the time of the Downfall. Númenoreans were considered to come of age at twenty-five. I could not find any information on when his next two brothers were born and eventually decided to set their birth after the time of this story.
> 
> The accompanying image is a detail from "The Tempest" by John William Waterhouse. The painting illustrates the opening scene from Shakespeare's play.


End file.
